RedMountainHome
Established Member
When I woke up this morning I was immediately worrying about Toby. I wondered, yet again, if this was the morning I'd find him dead. He's been declining for months, and I'm always worrying about him. I decided today's the day.
I dug a little hole under a nice bush near his outdoor cage, or his "summer house" as I liked to call it. I also got out my pellet gun, but worried about whether it would be enough for a quick kill so I got out a rifle instead.
I went back in and picked Toby up from where he was laying on the floor of his cage. He hasn't had the strength, or perhaps the will, to climb in weeks. He rarely even stands anymore, just lays there cluctching his legs or random sticks.
We go outside, which is luckily a nice warm day for December. We're both introverts, Toby and I, so I let him soak up some rays and give him some distance to enjoy it. I notice again how sickly he looks, and can't help but recall when he used to be so fiesty and colorful that I called him my Danger Skittle. Que the first tears of the day.
I lay him in the hole and give him what looks to be an instant death. I position him more comfortably and put a stick in his little ninja grabby hands so he has something to grip into the afterlife. I cover him with rocks, fill in the dirt, then lay on a large stone to prevent any critters from getting at him. I sit on a nearby stump, just letting thoughts flow through me.
I get antsy and start to dismantle his summer home. I eventually realize I don't know what I'm going to do with all his stuff and that I don't feel like thinking about that, so I leave the job half finished and take my tools back inside. I fiddle around for a while, feeling sad and rotten and not knowing what to do with myself. I sit down and start to write this note when my girlfriend comes over to comfort me. Que more tears.
So there I am, a grown man, crying about my dead chameleon. I talk about how I miss his goofy little butt. I also explain that I feel terribly guilty. I've been so worried and anxious for him, and my relief over the end of that worry has guilt tying me in knots. She tells me I did the right thing, saying that I gave him a good life and that he would've died ages ago in the wild. I already know that, but I appreciate her assurances and it helps untie me a bit. She lets me get out what I want, then gives me space when I ask for it so I can finish writing. She's also an introvert and an animal lover, so she understands.
I like to think Toby had a good run. He was about 6 years old. He hated me with a passion for our first year together, and I was constantly fretting over how to make him happy. We both eventually chilled out and became pals, with him happily eating from my hand and coming out to explore whenever he felt like it instead of when I thought he should. He had nice big cages that I built for him, one outside and another in a quiet corner of my office. He had a nice variety of gutloaded bugs to eat, caught a couple of anoles in his day, and I even gave him a nice big cicada one time that he wolfed down immediately.
Here's to you, Toby. You were beautiful, intelligent, and had the most personality of any lizard I ever met. I hope you enjoyed your life, and I'll miss you.
I dug a little hole under a nice bush near his outdoor cage, or his "summer house" as I liked to call it. I also got out my pellet gun, but worried about whether it would be enough for a quick kill so I got out a rifle instead.
I went back in and picked Toby up from where he was laying on the floor of his cage. He hasn't had the strength, or perhaps the will, to climb in weeks. He rarely even stands anymore, just lays there cluctching his legs or random sticks.
We go outside, which is luckily a nice warm day for December. We're both introverts, Toby and I, so I let him soak up some rays and give him some distance to enjoy it. I notice again how sickly he looks, and can't help but recall when he used to be so fiesty and colorful that I called him my Danger Skittle. Que the first tears of the day.
I lay him in the hole and give him what looks to be an instant death. I position him more comfortably and put a stick in his little ninja grabby hands so he has something to grip into the afterlife. I cover him with rocks, fill in the dirt, then lay on a large stone to prevent any critters from getting at him. I sit on a nearby stump, just letting thoughts flow through me.
I get antsy and start to dismantle his summer home. I eventually realize I don't know what I'm going to do with all his stuff and that I don't feel like thinking about that, so I leave the job half finished and take my tools back inside. I fiddle around for a while, feeling sad and rotten and not knowing what to do with myself. I sit down and start to write this note when my girlfriend comes over to comfort me. Que more tears.
So there I am, a grown man, crying about my dead chameleon. I talk about how I miss his goofy little butt. I also explain that I feel terribly guilty. I've been so worried and anxious for him, and my relief over the end of that worry has guilt tying me in knots. She tells me I did the right thing, saying that I gave him a good life and that he would've died ages ago in the wild. I already know that, but I appreciate her assurances and it helps untie me a bit. She lets me get out what I want, then gives me space when I ask for it so I can finish writing. She's also an introvert and an animal lover, so she understands.
I like to think Toby had a good run. He was about 6 years old. He hated me with a passion for our first year together, and I was constantly fretting over how to make him happy. We both eventually chilled out and became pals, with him happily eating from my hand and coming out to explore whenever he felt like it instead of when I thought he should. He had nice big cages that I built for him, one outside and another in a quiet corner of my office. He had a nice variety of gutloaded bugs to eat, caught a couple of anoles in his day, and I even gave him a nice big cicada one time that he wolfed down immediately.
Here's to you, Toby. You were beautiful, intelligent, and had the most personality of any lizard I ever met. I hope you enjoyed your life, and I'll miss you.
